"Ha!" Phelan's hands clenched in anger. "Single combat? Perhaps you were the only one left standing, but that's because your confederates had been scattered."

Puzzlement knitted Miraborg's dark brows while fear flashed through Kuusik's eyes. Even as Kuusik started toward him, Phelan realized that the Kapten had never told the Varldherre he had jumped Phelan with a gang of men that night so long ago. Of course, the Varldherre would have considered that an act of cowardice!Kuusik had been able to hide the truth because everyone believed that Phelan's protests about the number of attackers was a lie intended to hide his shame at defeat.

The Kapten's lunge came fast, but that mattered little. After Phelan's months of training with Evantha, Kuusik seemed clumsy and sluggish. Like a drunken brawler, the Kapten threw himself off balance as he punched, his fist looping through the air where Phelan's ducking head had been. The man stumbled forward.

Swinging with everything he had, Phelan hammered his right fist into Kuusik's chest. A hollow thump sounded as the blow landed directly below the Kapten's sternum, knocking the wind out of him. Hands clutched to his chest, Kuusik pitched forward and desperately tried to suck in air. Phelan's left hand clipped him behind the ear and accelerated his descent.

A sudden fire ignited in Miraborg's eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

Phelan wanted nothing so much as to tear off his mask so he could gloat over the Iron Jarl. His hands started up toward the mask, but a cold detachment replaced the urge and instead he readjusted the cloak that enshrouded him. Revenge was something Phelan Kell would have demanded, but I am no longer Phelan Kell.

It was Phelan Wolf who spoke. "You do not know me. We captured Phelan Kell in the Periphery. I know something of his last days on Gunzburg from his debriefing. He spoke fondly of your daughter, and I know he would have grieved her passing."

"He is dead?"

"He was on the flagship that Tyra rammed. Shortly thereafter, he was no more."

The Iron Jarl looked up slowly. "I see."

"Perhaps you do." Phelan looked beyond him, watching as the city's lights began to glow in the dusk. "You have a beautiful world and are responsible for safeguarding it. I must have your decision."

Miraborg sat so still and silent that Phelan wondered if the man had slipped into a state of catatonia. The office dimmed and Kuusik's moans ceased as he drifted into unconsciousness. Hardly daring to breathe, Phelan, too, remained motionless, waiting for the Varldherre's decision.

Finally, Miraborg's head came up. "I accept your terms for the surrender of Gunzburg. I will inform ComStar of my choice as successor, then I will retire from public life."

Phelan shook his head. "Do not retire."

"What?" Miraborg looked like a man at the breaking point. "All I have done is poison my life and the people around me. Kuusik there is only one of thousands more misguided men and women on this world, thousands whom I have led astray. I cannot continue in this position."

"Yes you can." The Clansman pointed toward the window. "Today, by agreeing to this surrender, you go from being a symbol for your people to a leader of your people. Your discipline, your love of Gunzburg, and your firm hand are still important and vital. And now you show the wisdom of knowing when to change."

Miraborg seemed to weigh Phelan's every word, assaying their truth. "Yes," he said at last, "I created the problem. It is for me to solve it."

Phelan nodded. "I shall return to my ship and inform the ilKhan of your decision." He turned to leave, but Miraborg's voice called him back. "Wait!"

The Clansman faced the crippled warrior. Miraborg slid open a drawer in his desk and took out a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Phelan recognized them instantly as his, and recalled his promise to Miraborg that he would recover them one day.

The Iron Jarl slid them in his direction. "I believe these belong to you." The man's lower lip trembled. "To the victor go the spoils."

Phelan made no move to take them. "If that is true, these belong to your people, for it is they who have triumphed today."

* * *

When Phelan and Carew stepped from the shuttle, they were immediately caught up in a frenzy of activity as bondsmen scurried around the shuttle bay. They waded through a sea of bodies securing the ship to the deck and found Natasha standing by the airlock bulkhead. She smiled broadly and offered Phelan her hand.

"Very well done, Star Commander. The ilKhan sends his warmest congratulations."

Phelan stripped off his right glove and shook her hand. Looking around at the furious activity in the bay, and the lack of people there to greet him, he felt confused. "What's going on?"

Natasha gave him one of those grins that said she'd managed yet another coup. "While you were down there enjoying real gravity, I've been working. I taught Marcos another lesson in bidding and won the right to take Satalice."

Phelan blinked. "Another assault?"

She nodded. "We've just been waiting for you before we jump. The New Black Widows will get their first battle inside a week." She chuckled slyly. "You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?"

38

Forward Observation Post, Tairakana Plains, Luthien

Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

5 January 3052

The total lack of activity on the Skulker car's sensors made Shin Yodama uneasy. The Clans had grounded their forces fifty klicks east of Luthien, right where the Tairakana Plains began their gentle slope down to Basin Lake. The negotiation between the ground forces and the incoming Clans had not revealed much about the attacker's numbers, so recon vehicles like Shin's had gone out under cover of darkness to learn whatever possible about the enemy.

Shin glanced at the digital time display in the aft section of the boxy armored car. Dawn stood yet an hour away, and it was then that everyone expected the attack to come. Stooping down to duck into the driving compartment, he tapped the driver's shoulder. "Head out another klick. We have to find something."

The driver looked back at Shin with fear on his face. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I really don't think we need to see the whites of their eyes."

Shin gave the man a shrug. "I don't like this any more than you do, but if we can give our air support some fixes, it'll mean less for our 'Mechs to shoot." He turned back to the two Techs at the van's scanners. "We're pulling forward another kilometer. Stay sharp. I have a feeling we'll get our contact."

He slapped the dangling legs of the vehicle's turret gunner. "That goes double for you. If you see it, shoot it."

" Hai!"

The driver eased the vehicle forward and kept the pace at a leisurely 10 kph. At that speed, the triple-axle scout tank handled the relatively smooth terrain like a luxury car, and Shin knew that was important. No only did it make data interp easier, but it prevented shaking up the vehicle's electronics. Without them, the Skulker would be little more than a blind fish in a shark tank.

"Contact. I have a set of blips, intermittent, dead ahead."

Shin hunched over the Tech's shoulder. "Gunner, bring the turret to oh-ninety degrees at five hundred meters. Patch your periscope through to the monitor and magnify one hundred percent."